


Wanting

by YamiSnuffles



Series: Too Much of a Good Thing [10]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Both Angels, Alternate Universe - Crowley Didn't Fall (Good Omens), Anal Sex, Angel Wings, Deleted Scene: Aziraphale's Bookshop 1800 (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mild Smut, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:14:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26737948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YamiSnuffles/pseuds/YamiSnuffles
Summary: It had all culminated in this, in a building that not only contained but displayed for all the world his most prized possessions. He’d had time to make it perfect. It was everything he wanted, from the gold leaf on the sign outside to the oculus on the roof that let the heavens above spill down on all who entered. At the heart of it all was his heart, his perfect little home with Crowley where they could have whatever they wanted of each other.-Deleted 1800s scene, married angels edition.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Too Much of a Good Thing [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1527806
Comments: 15
Kudos: 63





	Wanting

**Author's Note:**

> I know things tend to fade to black in this series, so if you'd like to skip over any sexual content, it's all in the middle third of the story. Otherwise, enjoy!

Aziraphale awoke to the feeling of delicate fingers at his temple, smoothing the curls that gathered there like clouds. He smiled but did not yet open his eyes. He’d never taken to sleeping the way that Crowley had but he’d grown quite fond of what bookended it. After all, he’d first been lured to sleep by Crowley dozing peacefully in his arms. When he’d awoken a few hours after that, Crowley still pressed snug against him, he’d decided perhaps there was something to this sleep thing. So there’d been countless more times he’d happily drifted off, with one held firm by the other or in a blissfully messy tangle of sweat slicked limbs, and just as many times he’d awakened to his love, his other, his Crowley.

“Just what are you smiling about?”

Aziraphale smiled wider at the question. Always questions but most pleasant enough. When he opened his eyes to see Crowley painted in the soft hues of early morning, he smiled wider still. The rosy light brought a burnish to gold eyes and drew out the brilliance of that flame red Seraph hair. So warm. So beautiful.

“Do you really not know?”

Crowley screwed up his face in mock concentration. “Hmmm… could it have something to do with breakfast?”   


Aziraphale chuckled. “No, that’s not it. You’ll have to try again.” A blink, a thought, and then, “Although, if you have plans…”

Crowley laughed in turn. “I do, actually. Though you’ll have to wait. Well, if that’s not it, then perhaps—” He looked up and gestured at the room around them. “Could it have something to do with being in our room over  _ your  _ shop. You know, the one you’ve been working on and planning for years and that is finally going to open to the world tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.” A new sort of happiness appeared effervescent in his belly and bubbled up to his chest. “It really is so soon already, isn’t it? There’s still so much to do to make sure everything is ready. I know I only just finished shelving all the books but I’m rethinking the whole system. And then there’s the orientation of the shelves themselves and—”

Crowley put a finger to Aziraphale’s lips to silence him. “It will all get done, so breathe, angel. I’ll help you and everything will be perfect before you know it.”

Aziraphale did as told and let out some of his tension with a breath. “Of course you will. Thank you, dear.”

“Anytime.”

“After breakfast.”

“After breakfast,” Crowley confirmed.

“Oh! But that’s still not what I was smiling about.”

Crowley’s eyebrows lifted. “It isn’t? If not your shop, then—?”

Aziraphale leaned in to press a kiss to the crooked tip of Crowley’s nose. “Why you, dearest. I was simply smiling about waking up next to you once more.”

A darling flush of pink spread over Crowley’s cheeks and to his ears, putting the rising sun to shame. Aziraphale never tired of seeing it. He pressed more kisses to either cheek, to angelic forehead, lips, and jaw and delighted as Crowley sputtered helplessly. The Seraph attempted to slither away with that liquid grace he so excelled at but Aziraphale wasn’t having it. He wrapped his arms tight around slim shoulders.

“What about breakfast?”

“It can wait. So can the shop.”

Crowley’s golden eyes widened. "If not breakfast, then what do you want?"

"You."

The tips of Crowley's ears shifted darker and turned a fetching shade of red that nearly matched his hair. "You can't say that every time."

"But it's true every time."

Crowley sounded near to choking on his own tongue. "Yeah, well, you've got me. You've had me since the beginning and you'll have me til the end. So what, right now, do you want of me?"

“Everything, always, but you know that.”

Aziraphale took a moment to really consider. It had taken him centuries upon centuries on Earth before he was comfortable openly wanting anything at all, let alone wanting Crowley. It had all culminated in this, in a building that not only contained but displayed for all the world his most prized possessions. He’d had time to make it perfect. It was everything he wanted, from the gold leaf on the sign outside to the oculus on the roof that let the heavens above spill down on all who entered. At the heart of it all was his heart, his perfect little home with Crowley where they could have whatever they wanted of each other.

“What I want is… well, it’s a bit embarrassing, I’m afraid.”

Crowley propped himself up on an elbow and tilted his head. “What is it? Come on, you know you never have anything to be embarrassed about with me.”

“Yes, well, you see, I’d like for you to help me get my wings in order.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said in a flat tone, “when exactly did you last groom them?”

“Me? You see… that is to say—”

“You haven’t, have you? You’ve just let them get a mess since I last set them straight.”

Aziraphale offered his most beatific smile and was met only with a sigh. Crowley sat up, which allowed Aziraphale the brief pleasure of watching the sheets fall away before he was bustled along.

“Come on. Up,” Crowley said, flapping his hands. “We’ve got a lot to do today and, from the sounds of it, this is going to take a while.”

“Give me a moment. You know I find waking up disorienting.”

“Now you’re just stalling. You’ve had more than a moment.  _ Up  _ and show me the damage.”

“Alright, alright.”

Aziraphale swung his legs over the edge of the bed so that he could sit comfortably while Crowley worked. He looked to their assorted clothes where they remained strewn across the floor from the night before. Thinking of what had led to their haphazard removal was more than diversion enough as he produced his wings for inspection. He might not have to look at them but Crowley made sure he was well aware of their wretched state.

“Really, angel,” Crowley groaned. “You’re so fussy about your appearance otherwise. I can’t believe you always let your wings get like this.”

“I am not fussy. I simply have standards. If either of us is fussy, it’s you.”

“Am not. This—” And there was a pause during which Crowley was no doubt preening. “Is all effortless.”

Aziraphale snorted. “Silly me. Never a hair out of place. Not even when I’ve got it fisted up in my hand and—” 

“ _ Alright _ , I’m trying to concentrate here.”

Aziraphale wiggled in his seat with a satisfied grin and then looked about. He was never sure what to do with himself in moments like this. Generally he would read but there wasn’t a book within reach and he was quite sure Crowley wouldn’t want another interruption now that he’d fallen into his work. His eyes slid from discarded clothes at the foot of the bed to meticulously aligned paintings on the far wall and onto the splash of green by the window, where Crowley had cultivated a small, verdant paradise. Just beyond that was the dressing mirror where Aziraphale’s gaze came to a rest. He smiled at the reflected image of Crowley, deep in thought over his shoulder.

A shiver jumped merrily along his spine as focused fingers smoothed the base of one wing and then moved to the base of the other. He’d forgotten just how pleasurable this could be. It took so long that he never liked to bother himself. There were so many better things he could do with his time than fuss around with feathers that were rarely out to be seen anyway. But Crowley doing it for him, well that was another matter. The same hands that had once sculpted the stars would reform his wings until they were resplendent. He had to bite his lip to hold back a moan when Crowley ran a palm slowly over the curve of his left wing. His pleasure was audible, regardless, in the rustle of feathers as a gleeful tremor ran through his wings.

It felt like he hadn’t been touched in ages. And he hadn’t, he supposed, when it came to being touched like this. Crowley had explored every inch of him, even the parts that he himself rarely saw. There wasn’t anything explicitly erotic about it but the intimacy of it made Aziraphale feel so seen. So known. The sight of Crowley behind him in the mirror only made matters worse. He felt muscles tighten and heat gather in his stomach before gathering lower still. It was enough that he could see his reflection visibly flushed. 

He swallowed hard. “What about your wings?”

Crowley finished straightening a perpetually errant primary and then countered with a question of his own. “What about my wings?”

“Well, when’s the last time you groomed them?”

“Much more recently than you’ve done your own. Or haven’t done.”

“May I see them?”

Aziraphale tried to turn to face Crowley only to have a pair of nimble hands immediately force him forward. “My wings aren’t the problem, remember. Now sit still.”

Aziraphale did as asked for at least a couple of minutes. Possibly even a full three. The point was, he really tried before he looked back over his shoulder, let his bottom lip protrude, and let his brow raise just so. Sure enough, Crowley only sighed instead of scolding him.

“Fine, but keep in mind I have six wings to look after instead of just the two. A lot more difficult to keep all that up to snuff.”

Aziraphale nodded his encouragement. He needed to cross his legs when he turned around to hide just how eager he was so see Crowley on full display. How had he let it go so long? Perhaps he would subject his own wings to more regular grooming if he could expect this sort of trade off.

He watched as Crowley closed his eyes and then a moment later, unfolded six glorious wings. They were each positively without flaw, every feather in place and with a healthy sheen to them. Aziraphale wasn’t sure how he managed. Probably miracles. Heaven didn’t track Crowley’s miracle usage the way they did his own. Whatever the case, they were well worth the trouble.

“Happy now?” Crowley asked.

“Oh yes.” Aziraphale shuffled over the bed on his knees. Up close it was possible to see the way they subtly sparkled, as though stardust clung to them still. “Lovely,” he said as he stroked the lower most set, starting at the base of Crowley’s back. “Simply lovely.”

Under a fiery patch of chest hair, pale skin turned pink. “Just wings.”

“Just wings,” Aziraphale scoffed. “They’re  _ your  _ wings. They could never be ‘just’ anything.”

The upward tilt of Crowley’s lips couldn’t be denied no matter how he rolled his eyes. “Don’t see what the big deal is.”

“Don’t you?”

Aziraphale ran his fingers along Crowley’s spine, over smooth skin and between the tufts of down where flesh and feathers met. Crowley gasped and Aziraphale moved closer so there was absolutely no doubt about his enthusiasm.

“What happened to wanting me to groom your wings?” Crowley all but whined.

“They’re good enough, I’d say. You asked what I wanted and I’ve changed my mind.”

Aziraphale kissed his way up Crowley’s long neck, along the hard cut of his jaw, and to the outside of his ear. “Do you know,” he said breathily into that same ear, “that seeing you like this makes me think back to the ark. There you were, back in your own body and naked as the day She made you. You were so full of wonder and life and joy.”

He nipped at the lobe and Crowley growled then and put an end to any tentative exploration with a fierce kiss. Aziraphale moaned into it as he recalled his brief dismay when Crowley had slipped into his discarded cloak back on the ark. Now he could have him just as he’d wanted him then. He pulled back to say as much but couldn’t resist another kiss and another after that.

Heat rolled off them both in waves and pooled between them, keeping them warm even as Aziraphale finally pulled back to admire those glistening wings once more. “You were so happy to have your wings back,” he continued. “You took my hand and flew with me.” He reached across and locked their hands, left in left so that their wedding rings bumped together. “You could have taken me anywhere. I would have followed.”

Crowley gave him a sly lift of one eyebrow. “Would have?”

“Would have. Will still. Anywhere you want to take me.” Aziraphale released his grip so that he could instead grab onto the softly protruding jut of bony hips. “Any  _ way  _ you want to take me.”

Crowley’s hips stuttered under his hands. “This was supposed to be about what you want.”

“And I told you—” Aziraphale kissed him. Kissed his nose. Kissed his forehead. “What I want is you. Like this.”

“I assume you want these out?” Crowley asked with a lopsided smile and a nod back to his wings.

“Oh yes.”

Crowley shook his head but he was still smiling when he pulled their bodies together once more. Aziraphale sucked in a sharp breath when his hardening cock met Crowley’s in the soft contrast of body hair and bellies. He immediately wanted more and Crowley obliged, sliding one hand between them to stroke them with the uneven, needy roll of Aziraphale’s hips. At the same time, Crowley’s other hand slid back and lingered appreciatively over the ample curve of Aziraphale’s ass. The possessive way he clutched at the flesh was enough to stoke a need for more before a finger probed deep.

There was a clatter as something was knocked to the floor when Aziraphale spread his wings reflexively. They laughed together, neither bothering to see what it was.

“Maybe the wings aren’t the best idea,” Crowley said, though he made no move to put his away. “Last time we did this we were outside.”

“No, I think…” Aziraphale took full advantage of his grip on Crowley’s middle set of wings and rubbed at the juncture of flesh and feather. Crowley bucked in response. Aziraphale pressed a satisfied grin to his neck. “I think they should stay.”

“Whatever you want,” Crowley panted. 

He was maddeningly hard against Aziraphale’s stomach. They both were. This was all good— very good— but that was the only thing he was sure of. “Crowley, I—”

He didn’t know whether he wanted to press his body forward in search of more friction or back on fingers that knew all too well how to make him see stars. He only knew that he wanted. He wanted and wanted and wasn’t sure there was any end to it. Such desire had been terrifying to Aziraphale when first he’d felt it but now he gave himself to it with abandon. He was safe in familiar hands, blessed by sacred lips. 

“I’ve got you.”

Despite what he said, Crowley removed both his hands and left Aziraphale wanting as he moved to sit beside him. Aziraphale was about to protest when he was drawn up by sure, wiry arms and deposited over Crowley’s lap. More than prepared by Crowley’s prior ministrations, Aziraphale sank slowly down onto the full length of the cock beneath him. Crowley let out a moan that was so soft and sweet that Aziraphale wanted to swallow it down. He chased after it with a kiss, drew out another, and another. He could have feasted that way forever but he wasn’t the only one who was hungry. Crowley licked deep into his mouth before tearing away to explore Aziraphale’s neck.

Crowley gripped onto Aziraphale. Desperate fingers sank possessively into the meat of his ass. Aziraphale threw back his head. A gratified groan rumbled up through his chest at the slide of his leaking cock between their slick bodies. They were so close. There was barely space for a breath between them. Everything was reduced to blinding sensation. He gasped and grabbed ahold of Crowley’s wings to ground himself, half afraid he would lose himself and float blissfully away from his body.

They’d travelled together over time, from their first fumbling attempts to this perfect moment of connection. They’d joined in every way they wanted, anywhere their imagination took them. They knew each other quite literally, inside and out. This was precisely what Aziraphale had wanted and he hadn’t even had to put it to voice. Their bodies knew. They could find a rhythm without a thought. Something bright and marvellous within Crowley would reach out and that same bright and marvellous thing in Aziraphale would reach back. They would twine together in a sort of harmony that would make the choirs of Heaven jealous. Seraphim had been made, in part, to sing and sing Crowley did.

Aziraphale wasn’t sure which of them found their release first. It hardly mattered. Wings banished once more, they fell into bed again together. They were laying face to face with their limbs tangled in a mirror of their position when he’d woken up what felt like a lifetime ago.

“That was—”

Aziraphale smiled softly. “It was indeed.”

Crowley rolled onto his back. His thin chest rose and fell until his breathing leveled. The dust motes that drifted in the ray of morning sun above him danced with every exhalation. “Wings were a good idea.”

“I thought it was something worth revisiting.”

Aziraphale extended an arm and stroked lazily at chesthairs that glowed like embers in the light. Crowley gave Aziraphale a sidelong look punctuated with a smile.

“Dunno how I forgot what that could be like.”

“It’s good one of us remembers such things, then.”

“Yeah.” Crowley thrust a hand up into the air. The sparkling dust motes rushed away from the sudden motion and any mess in the room went with them. The paintings that had been knocked from the walls hopped back to their places and the few scattered feathers lost to their exertions formed a small pile on a bedside table. Crowley himself was perfectly put together once more, without a hair out of place and a fresh outfit on. “Speaking of, I seem to remember we’ve still got a lot to do today. I for one owe you breakfast.” He gave Aziraphale a parting kiss and then hopped easily to his feet. “I love you, angel. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Aziraphale watched the Seraph saunter from the room with a bit of extra pep in his step. It was a shame to see him go, but Crowley was right, there really was an awful lot to do. He pulled himself out of bed and away from the temptation to stay there until he could lure his husband back in. He carefully chose an outfit from his wardrobe and dressed in front of the mirror, trying as he did to avoid thinking on the image of himself and Crowley that had been captured in it not long ago.

Once he was dressed to his satisfaction, he travelled downstairs. He was only halfway down when he heard the bell over the front door tinkle merrily.

“Back so— Oh.” It wasn’t Crowley coming through those doors but a very different pair of angels. Aziraphale’s eyelashes fluttered as he tried desperately to compose himself. He hurried down the rest of the steps. “I mean, hello! Greetings? Salutations, Gabriel. Sandalphon.”

He struggled to remember the appropriate address and started with a bow that turned clumsily into an extended hand. Gabriel ignored it, as he did most things that Aziraphale did. The Archangel instead smiled that too bright smile of his with his too white teeth on full display.

“Hello, oh Angel of the Eastern Gate. I come bearing good news!”

Gabriel’s voice boomed in that way that was supposed to be very impressive to mortals but only ever served to make Aziraphale flinch.

“You do?”

“Indeed I do!” Gabriel slapped him on the back and despite all of Aziraphale’s strength, he nearly toppled over. “We’re bringing you home.”

Aziraphale blinked rapidly and looked between the two angels. “What?”

“Promoting you back upstairs,” Sandalphon chimed.

Aziraphale understood, in theory, why this was supposed to be good news but he simply couldn’t get beyond the vague theory of it to the concrete reality they implied. “But my shop is opening tomorrow. There’s so much I need to do today and then when it’s open—”

“Yes, yes. It’s an excellent idea,” Gabriel said. “Whoever replaces you down here can obviously use it as a base of operations.”

“ _ Use my bookshop _ ?”

Now Aziraphale was no longer certain he understood. It was like they were speaking another language, only, he knew all the languages. Well, his French could apparently use some work and his Chinese also left a lot to be desired, but the point still stood. Gabriel kept looking at him with that smile and Sandalphon was starting to look like he suspected Aziraphale had grown particularly dull.

“You’re being promoted,” Gabriel reiterated. “You get to come back home.”

Sandalphon let out a noise of distaste. He drawled out something disparaging while Gabriel added some words about service and duty. Aziraphale couldn’t focus on any of it. He was stuck on the word  _ home _ . He knew that Heaven was, ultimately, the home of all angels but he had a home. Here. They were standing in it. They had to feel the love poured into the very brick and mortar of the building and yet they were asking him to leave like it was nothing.

He stared down at the medal that Gabriel held out for him. He wasn’t sure when it had been extended to him or why. He shook his head and hoped that it would be enough to shake loose the confusing fog that had apparently taken up residence in his mind.

“I don’t want a medal.”

Gabriel’s smile, if possible, grew wider and brighter. “That’s very noble of you.”

Maybe they weren’t the ones speaking another language. Perhaps it was Aziraphale himself who was somehow being unclear. Well then, he would make it clear. “No.”

That dazzling be not afraid smile faltered and Gabriel placed the medal back in a small box. “What?”

While Gabriel merely looked baffled, Sandalphon squared his shoulders. That miniscule shift in posture was enough to make Aziraphale sink back into himself. He twisted his fingers and spun his wedding band around. The heat and power of stars lived on in that band. Perhaps he could borrow some of that for himself.

“I, er, that is,” he hedged, “no, thank you. I’m very flattered, of course, but I’d like to stay here if at all possible. There’s no need to replace me.”

“If you’re worried about who will replace you, don’t,” Gabriel said, as though it were as simple as that. “I have no doubt that whoever takes your place will perform just as well as you. Michael perhaps. The humans seem to like Michael.”

Aziraphale frowned. Apparently just anyone could do his job. Six thousand years was enough to finally earn him a commendation but not make him in any way indispensable. He cast his gaze aside and saw a familiar shock of red outside. When he lifted his head to get a better look, though, it was gone. His desperation was evidently making him see things.

“What about Crowley?”

Gabriel furrowed his brow. “What about him?”

Sandalphon stepped forward with a sneer. “I really don’t think someone like  _ Crowley  _ is right to take up your post.”

The name dripped from his mouth like an insult. Aziraphale knew why, knew as well as anyone that it wasn’t the Seraph’s God given moniker, but it had been so long since he’d heard it that way that he’d forgotten anyone thought of it as anything less than a miracle of its own. Crowley had recreated himself. Creation was such a rare and wondrous gift. It should be lauded rather than scorned.

“If I’m supposed to go back to Heaven, you can’t expect me to go without him.” Two pairs of eyes looked blankly back at Aziraphale and he felt all the more that he’d been transported back to Babel. “We’re married?” He hadn’t intended for that to come out as a question but they both looked so baffled. “I can’t simply leave him behind.”

“Oh, right, your  _ marriage _ .” Gabriel exchanged a look with Sandalphon and the two of them sniggered. “Marriage was made for humans, Aziraphale. I kept hoping you would come to your senses about that. All the more proof that you’ve been here too long. Come back with us so that you can remember what it’s like to be a real angel again. And if you’re really so worried about Crowley, I’m sure we can figure out some way for him to come along eventually.”

Aziraphale’s eyes stung and he blinked rapidly to prevent any moisture gathering. Was he a bad angel? It seemed quite likely, though he could never attribute that to something as good and as right as his marriage. He wanted to say as much but the idea of flatly contradicting Gabriel to his face made Aziraphale nauseous. His tongue felt thick and clumsy in his mouth.

_ What do you want? _

There wasn’t even a need, really, to answer that with Crowley. He would know either way. But Crowley always asked and Aziraphale delighted in answering. And in those times when he couldn’t find the words, Crowley knew still.

Aziraphale knew quite clearly what he wanted in this case. He wanted to stay in his shop, to open it tomorrow, and shepherd the humans through his collection. He wanted his first editions and his books of prophecy. He wanted his bedroom with its prettily papered walls and art made by dearly departed friends over the centuries. Absolutely more than anything, he wanted to stay with Crowley.

As much as he ached for any of those things, though, how was he supposed to choose them over Heaven?

Any internal turmoil was brought to an abrupt end by a rather spectacular amount of external chaos. The bell jangled as the front door flew open with enough force to make the wooden frame groan. Crowley came sliding in a moment later, his grey suit a rumpled mess and every strand of his usually impeccable hair askew. He scrabbled straight past the visiting angels and grabbed Aziraphale by the shoulders.

“Aziraphale! You cannot imagine how glad I am to see you. I didn’t know if I would make it back here,” he said, casting his gaze back over his shoulder every other word.

Gabriel took a commanding step forward that brought focus back on him. “What is the meaning of this?”

Crowley whirled around. “Gabriel! And Sandalphon, too! What luck. With all of you here, Hastur won’t dare show his slimy face around here.”

“Hastur?” Gabriel’s violet eyes widened in surprise. “As in Duke of Hell, Hastur?”

Aziraphale heaved a weary sigh. Every time the demon made an appearance in their lives, it spelled disaster. It had been centuries since he’d last shown up and Aziraphale had started to hope that they’d seen the last of him. “Oh, what does that wretched toad want this time?”

“ _ This time _ ?” Gabriel echoed.

“Frog, actually,” Crowley corrected, as if that were the important part of all this. “Or is he a toad? Guess I’ve never really looked properly.”

“You know that it’s a figure of— nevermind that,” Aziraphale huffed. “Actually, nevermind any of it. I don’t care why he’s around again. Tell me where you saw him and I’ll give that wretched creature a reminder to leave you well enough alone.”

“Well,” Gabriel said, his voice booming once more and his smile overbright. “It seems like you have things in hand here, so we’ll just be going.”

Aziraphale blinked rapidly, thrown. “You’re... going? What about—”

“Your medal?” Gabriel took one of Aziraphale’s hands and placed the small box in the palm. “Here. Now I really must be off. Appointment with my tailor, you see.”

“So I’m not—”

Gabriel gave Aziraphale another firm slap on the back and started out the door. “You’re doing good work here. In your bookshop. Battling evil.”

Sandalphon followed up Gabriel’s backslap with a punch to the arm. “Carry on battling.”

Aziraphale rubbed at his now sore arm and watched the two Archangels leave. “But I don’t understand.”

He gaped after them. He couldn’t complain about the sudden reversal of his fate but that didn’t mean he understood it. He took one last frowning look at his medal of commendation. He’d dreamed once of standing before the hosts of Heaven, clad in his whitest whites so that he was one with the brilliance around him. They would all congratulate him on his hard work and he would dismiss their praise with humble words and a politely dipped head. And here it was, after all this time. He finally had something tangible that said he was doing good work and he could hardly discard it fast enough onto the nearest flat surface.

He was on his way to the backroom to fetch himself a stiff drink when he recalled he wasn’t the only one there. “Crowley, oh dear, I’m sorry. I’m afraid that I’m rather frazzled. What was this about Hastur?”

Crowley’s face split into a toothy grin. His formerly rumpled clothes and hair were once again immaculate. He leaned casually against one of the half stocked bookshelves. “Absolutely nothing.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Nothing?” He felt more confused than ever. Perhaps he’d never woken up at all and this was all the wild imaginings of his unconscious mind. It would go a long way to explain the many twists the day had taken in such a short time. “Why would he come here just for nothing?”

“No, angel, I mean that he never was here in the first place. When I came back and heard those two windbags going on, I thought I’d get you out of a pinch.”

A gear turned and clicked into place. “You… made it up?”

“Yep. Didn’t seem to me like they were listening to you, so I gave them a reason to really hear. Reminded them of everything you do. You played your part perfectly. Ol’ Gabe looked flabbergasted by how casually you talked about taking Hastur down a peg.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “I wasn’t aware I was playing a part.”

“Course you weren’t, you perfect, impossible thing, you. Made it all the better, really. I mean, you didn’t want to go back to Heaven did you?”

“No.” When Aziraphale realized how quickly he’d answered, he flicked his eyes upward. “That is to say, I’d prefer not to but I wouldn’t have refused if they insisted.”

Crowley crossed the shop and bent in to press a light kiss to Aziraphale’s temple. “I know you wouldn’t, love.” There seemed to be a melancholic lilt to his voice but when he pulled back, his smile was as sure as ever. “So I made sure you didn’t have to worry about refusing. You get to stay in your shop, Heaven gets to keep the best Earth Operative it could hope for. Everyone wins.”

Some niggling part of Aziraphale knew that he should disapprove no matter what he wanted personally. If Heaven wanted him back, who was he to deny them? But they wanted him here, now, didn’t they? And it wasn’t as though he’d lied. He  _ had  _ dealt with Hastur and others more times than he cared to count. If Gabriel saw that as reason enough for him to stay, surely it didn’t matter that Crowley had himself stretched the truth.

“Well, when you put it that way, I don’t suppose anyone could complain.” Aziraphale’s stomach took that moment to growl loudly. “Except for, it would appear, my stomach. Goodness, excuse me. I’d quite forgotten about breakfast until now.”

Crowley took a step back. He swept into a dramatic, arm waving bow that tugged at the fabric of reality. When he straightened it was with a lush bouquet in one hand and a large parcel in the other. The warm rich, buttery scent of fresh pastries and sweet jams wafted over. Aziraphale’s stomach growled again.

“It’s good one of us remembers such things, then,” Crowley said with a cheeky wink. “Should all still be warm. I hope. Had to tuck it out of the way for a bit. Sort of ruins the whole chased by a demon bit if I’m lugging around a bunch of flowers.” Crowley offered up the bouquet and it was accepted with warm cheeks and a flustered smile. The Seraph then waggled the muslin wrapped parcel. “Got all sorts of goodies in here, including a few treats for a midmorning dessert, if you’re interested.” 

"I would like nothing better." Anticipation wriggled its way through Aziraphale and his good mood from earlier returned in full. He gestured on to the backroom. “After you, dearest.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story marks the end of the sort of cold open tour of history with these boys. The end of this series will come with, well, the End. The final part will appear in the form of a chaptered fic centered around the Apocalypse. Also, be sure to visit me on Tumblr @Yamisnuffles if you want to see art related to this latest segment.


End file.
